


Silent Planet

by Silbrith



Series: Caffrey Conversation [41]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: Neal and Diana go undercover to thwart video game pirates. January 2006.
Series: Caffrey Conversation [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/65698
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Pirates

_Notes: This story takes place after the events in Italian Masquerade and Witch in Venice. I wrote a short summary of the status of the key players at the beginning of the story for my blog:_ [ _Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ ](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/) _. The post is called "[Blast Off to Silent Planet](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/03/blast-off-to-silent-planet.html)." See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information._

* * *

**Federal Building. Tuesday, January 17, 2006.**

"I wish they were called something— _anything_ —else," Neal complained. "They give pirates a bad name."

"I feel your pain," Sara agreed. Neal imagined her green eyes looking at him sympathetically, her mouth drooping at the corners.

Picturing her face was a much more welcome sight than the bare walls of the interrogation room he'd appropriated for a private phone call. White Collar had yet to adopt huddle rooms so he was forced to partake of the prison-like ambiance if he wished to escape the din of the bullpen. With the time zone difference between London and New York, the lunch hour provided the best opportunity for him to catch Sara. She was already at her flat, the workday ended.

"Don't forget, I was the one who hoisted the Jolly Roger on the sailboat last summer," she added. "When we were pirates, the only people we harmed were the real bad guys. Is there anything about the case you can share?"

"It concerns video game piracy, and Richard first brought it to our attention."

The soft intake of her breath was picked up by the phone as Sara undoubtedly cringed. She was friends with Richard too. Neal's fellow art student worked during the day at Scima Gameworks as a concept artist. Neal didn't need to reveal any other details. She was bound to suspect it concerned his company. Richard and his boss Ian Forster were coming to White Collar in a couple of hours to discuss the situation with the team. Ian had also asked for Aidan to be present. The previous summer, Aidan had worked as an intern at Scima, but Neal suspected Ian wanted him present because of his hacking skills, not his ability with audio effects. Aidan's cybersecurity expertise had already resulted in him being hired to work with Travis as a contractor on special projects.

Neal and Sara were still dancing around the tricky minefield of job confidentiality with neither of them able to reveal much about their active cases. She was familiar with a few of his past assignments because she'd been assigned to assist White Collar on them. About all Neal knew about her work was that she was one of Sterling-Bosch's lead agents in stolen item recovery.

"I have good news to report," Sara said. "I may be coming to New York at the end of the month, and it will be courtesy of Sterling-Bosch."

"That rockets out of the good category to the outstanding! Does that mean you'll be able to participate in Aidan's film project?"

"I hope to. Sterling-Bosch wants to hold a training conference in New York, and they'd like me to lead a couple of the sessions. They sent around several date options. I picked the last two days in January—the Monday and Tuesday after the weekend Aidan reserved for filming."

For the short feature Aidan was making in preparation for the upcoming master's exhibition, they'd be on location at the house of Electra Stavrou in New Haven. She lived in a Victorian-era mansion that had a stunning collection of Pre-Raphaelite stained glass angels. She'd offered to let the cast stay at the house over the weekend while they filmed scenes.

Last summer, Sara had worked on another of Aidan's film projects. She and Neal had played American spies on a U-boat they'd hijacked from the Nazis. That one featured a couple of clench scenes for them. This latest project was a sci-fi horror endeavor. Neal's expectations were much lower. Should he be content as long as Sara didn't play a cadaver?

"All I know is that the stained glass angels play a prominent role," Sara said. "Do you have any other details about the plot?"

"Not so far. Aidan's being close-mouthed about the details. Keiko and I will both be able to use elements from the project for our courses. She's taking a class on nineteenth-century stained glass, and I have a seminar on the Pre-Raphaelites." He hesitated for a moment as he pictured Sara lounging on the sofa, barefoot, her copper hair cascading over her shoulders. "I have a special affinity for Dante Rossetti. His muse was a gorgeous redhead. We have that in common."

"I'm your muse?" The delight in her voice made him go mushy inside. "Am I wearing one of those romantic medieval gowns?"

"Sometimes," Neal said, a smile breaking out. It wasn't necessary to mention exactly how revealing those gowns could be.

"I hope you placed yourself in those paintings."

"I'm your knight, down on one knee, gazing up at my fair lady with adoration."

"Then I'll command you to rise and strip off your armor, very slowly, of course. Piece by provocative piece."

"As my lady wishes," he said, dropping his voice to a seductive murmur.

"In that case, I'll order you to disrobe me as well."

As they continued to fantasize, Neal wished he was at home instead of an interrogation room with a glass window onto the hallway. Sara had no such restraints. She could describe in minute detail every action she'd take.

"I love the medieval gowns the women are portrayed wearing," she said dreamily. "I hope I'll be able to wear something similar in the film."

"I do, too. Something form-fitting, in a sensuous fabric, perhaps in silk."

"Or soft crushed velvet."

A knock on the door was followed immediately by Peter striding in. "Sorry to break this up." He leaned over Neal's cell phone and said, "Hi, Sara."

"How'd you know it was me?" she asked.

"I could see Neal's moonstruck look from the hallway. He'll have to continue the conversation later. Work awaits."

Neal grimaced as he ended the call. "Isn't it still the lunch hour?"

"Don't blame me, Romeo. Ian called, asking to move up our meeting time. You should feel grateful. The others are already waiting in the conference room. I rousted you last."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter had requested that the entire team be present for the meeting. Jones, Diana, and Travis were all much more knowledgeable of the video game industry than he was. In addition, Travis was also well acquainted with Ian, not only because he was his boyfriend Richard's boss, but because Ian had assisted the team last summer in California. Rolf Mansfeld had planted one of his operatives at the Los Angeles facility of Scima Gameworks. She'd arranged to have Neal abducted to the Scima virtual-reality lab where he was subjected to psychological manipulation.

Ian had acted as intermediary between the FBI and the company during the successful rescue. The guy looked more like a heavy metal rocker than a project leader, but in the world of gaming, perhaps that was standard. From Peter's perspective, what counted was Ian's willingness to do whatever it took to achieve the desired results. Ian had bashed more than a few corporate heads at Scima, securing with lightning speed their permission for a raid on their headquarters. When Ian reached out to Peter for assistance, it was White Collar's turn to return the favor.

Ian had initially labeled the current crime a case of video game piracy, but you wouldn't have known it by the way he described it to the team.

"I'm here to prevent a kidnapping," Ian said bluntly. "Someone's about to snatch my baby and I want you blokes to stop them."

Peter cleared his throat. "Who, or what, do you think will be kidnapped?"

" _Silent Planet_. We've been working on this game for years and are preparing to unveil an early beta release at the Game Developers Conference in a month."

Peter was acquainted with the project since Travis had told him about it once the veil of secrecy was lifted. This was to be the first video game based on the novel _Out of the Silent Planet_ by C.S. Lewis. "Why do you believe you'll be targeted?"

Ian shrugged. "I figure it's inevitable. We've deliberately kept a lid on news because it incorporates many cutting-edge features unlike any game currently on the market. Piracy has been an issue for a long time in our industry, but I'm not talking about the simple kind of crime where gamers use illegal copies. Our Dutch affiliate warned us about a new ring of hackers. They infect code with a virus which renders it inoperable. Once the virus is installed, they send a ransom demand. Several games being developed in Europe have been hit over the past several months."

Extortion through ransomware had taken off in the summer of 2005 with examples proliferating exponentially. The Bureau's Cyber Division normally handled this kind of case but the ties White Collar had made with Scima would likely enable them to pursue the investigation . . . if there was sufficient evidence. 

Travis turned to Aidan. "Doesn't your anti-malware software prevent this type of attack?"

"Theoretically, it should," Aidan said with frustrated wince, "but so far no one's been able to identify the virus used by this group of pirates. Until that happens, we're unable to come up with a countermeasure. My company hasn't worked with any of the game companies which have been victimized."

"I haven't seen any reports about the group in the Bureau," Jones commented. "They may be testing their technique before striking in the States."

"Scima Netherlands told me that the pirates time their attacks to occur just before the release," Ian said. "The companies who were targeted are major players who had robust firewalls in place. They believe the infection was spread internally, either inadvertently or through an employee who was paid off. The upcoming release of _Silent Planet_ has been getting so much publicity that the crooks have probably already laid the groundwork." Ian made a face. "We're bloody sitting ducks waiting for the fox to make its move. Aidan came up with the idea that we might be able to launch a counteroffensive by discovering the mole before the damage is done. He claims that's your specialty."

Peter turned to Aidan. "Just what is this idea of yours?"

"It's not only mine, it's Richard's too," Aidan protested, his face reddening to a hue almost identical to his hair. Peter kept his groans to himself. Both Aidan and Richard had helped the team out without hesitation whenever they'd been called upon. Aidan hadn't mentioned Neal's involvement in the scheme, and Neal was maintaining his look of bland-vanilla innocence, but it was an easy wager he'd been the instigator. The three were art students at Columbia. They were on the same fencing team. What were the odds Aidan wouldn't have discussed it with Neal first?

"The code is currently being refined by a relatively small group of developers at Scima," Ian said. "Aidan suggested that a few members of your team could arrive, pretending to be from our Amsterdam office. Many of the employees there are from the U.K. or the States. You'll have no need to fake an accent. You're in town to discuss a new game. We leak word that it embraces a new technology never before used in a game. It's the kind of information that if there's a mole, they're bound to want to transmit."

"In other words, you want to go fishing," Diana said.

Ian nodded. "And hope to capture a sea monster."

"What do you intend to use as bait?" Peter asked.

Ian turned to Richard. "It was your suggestion. You should explain it."

Richard slanted a quick glance at Neal as if asking for help, clueing Peter in on the real origin of the idea. "Last winter our parent company, Scima Workshop began preliminary work on a movie based on Lovecraft's short story, 'The Haunter of the Dark.' The project was canceled when it was discovered that the company had been duped into believing Paramount Pictures wanted to pursue the project. Ian told me there are very few at Scima who know the actual details of what went on. There's never been a video game made of the short story, but Scima has looked into developing a Cthulhu Mythos-inspired franchise. Since your team is so familiar with Lovecraft, whoever you designate to go undercover should have a relatively easy time convincing the New York office that the game's being developed."

Judging by the team's excited faces, it was time for a reality check. "I don't doubt the threat exists," Peter said, opting to put a diplomatic spin on it, "but you have no concrete evidence that Scima's been targeted. I can't allocate Bureau resources simply on the belief that a crime could be committed sometime off in the future."

"The timing's not that vague," Ian objected. "If they're going to make a move, they'll do it soon. The Game Developers Convention is only a few weeks away. They'd need to allow time to infect the code, have it be discovered, then approach us, and negotiate a ransom."

"How many potential suspects are in your office?" Jones asked.

"Thirty-two employees," Ian said, "not including myself and Richard."

"How much expertise would be required to infect the code?" Neal asked.

"Not necessarily that much," Aidan said. "It could be as simple as clicking on a link in an email."

"In other words, practically anyone could be the mole," Peter said, taking a breath. The team members were all eager to pursue the project. Was that the real reason Richard and Aidan were at the meeting? Ian knew of their friendship with the White Collar agents. He was banking on them supporting his request.

In the end, Peter decided to let them proceed with formulating a strategy, but implementation would have to wait till there was more evidence. When Ian returned to Scima, Aidan and Richard remained behind to provide background information for a sting that would likely never happen.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal freely acknowledged that video games were not in his skill set, but they were in someone else's. When Ian left, Neal retreated to his favorite interrogation room for a private chat.

"You're putting me on the spot," Mozzie complained, his disgruntlement coming through loud and clear on the phone. "As a matter of principle, all video games should be free to roam the Earth at will."

"We're not talking about an endangered species," Neal riposted. "If a video game were to be made of _Yellowface, the Masked Avenger_ , would you really be willing to let yourself and Aidan be ripped off so it could 'roam free' as you call it? Richard puts his heart and soul into his concept art. Doesn't he also deserve compensation?"

Mozzie sighed and was silent for a moment. "Your point is valid. You and I are both evolving, mon frère. Forgeries have lost their allure for you."

"Not true," Neal insisted. "I take just as much pride as ever, but their purpose is different. Now they're used to trick bad guys." It was clear Mozzie knew something. The objections he raised were more pro forma then heartfelt. But it eased his shadow-lurker's conscience for Neal to coax him into divulging the nuggets.

"There's a new entity on the dark web," Mozzie divulged, dropping his voice to a whisper. "It's called the Cube."

"As in the Borg hive in _Star Trek_?"

"Perhaps. Or it could be from the movie. The symbolism of Rubik's cube makes it also a provocative option. But more germane to our discussion is the Cube's function. It's a chat room devoted to gaming and has been operational for the past four months. And yes, there's a lot of chatter about _Silent Planet_. Someone called Pod2 claims they'll have code available for sale. Bidding has already commenced."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal headed to Peter's office after the call with Mozzie. The confirmation created an additional layer of complexity.

A frown settled on Peter's face as he considered the implication. "Pod2's actions don't sound like what Ian described. He was worried about ransomware."

"Ian may not realize the additional threat. Even though the ransom is paid, the code will still be in jeopardy. And it's not just the code, it's the intellectual property which is at risk of being auctioned off." The theft of intellectual property was a primary responsibility for White Collar. Peter couldn't argue about the appropriateness of an investigation.

"Has Mozzie seen reports of any other video games being similarly advertised on the Cube?" Peter asked.

"Not for any games developed in the States, but it's bound to happen. European games have already been victimized. The Cube's only recently sprung into existence. This could be our chance to crush it before it becomes even more of a threat."

"Is Mozzie willing to work with us?"

Neal hesitated as he pondered how best to describe his friend's mindset. "He's not ecstatic about it, but he recognizes it's in his own personal interest."

Peter eyed him knowingly. "Thanks to some nudges on your part, I expect."

Neal shrugged acknowledgment. "Up to very recently, Mozzie hasn't been a producer of intellectual property. Since he started writing scripts, he's developed a new perspective, but it's not an easy adjustment."

Peter stood up. "This additional information should be enough to get clearance from Hughes. Let's go tell the others." He glanced at his watch. "We still have a couple of hours to work on the strategy before meeting with Tricia and Diana."

"I assume you know what Tricia wants to talk about," Neal said, hoping for a few crumbs.

"Yes, and that's all you'll get out of me." He stood up. "It's nothing dire. Focus on what's in front of you."

But Neal already had enough information to give free rein to his imagination. Tricia Wiese had been the profiler for Rolf and Klaus Mansfeld. Although both men were currently awaiting trial, their files were still active. Neal didn't know of any other White Collar cases Tricia was working on. Even more telling was that Diana was included. She oversaw the Arkham Files stories which were now being co-written by Mozzie. Tricia continued to be a member of the Arkham Files writers' group, an indication she considered the stories useful despite the Mansfelds' status.

Neal's suspicions were confirmed when later that afternoon Peter directed him to the interrogation room Diana liked to appropriate for her writing cave. A starfish beanbag she'd named Peachy, along with the octopus coffee mug she reserved for writing, was positioned on either side of her laptop, signs that she intended to put on her writer's hat after the meeting. Tricia was already present. They clustered their chairs around Diana's desk.

"This morning, I got another comment from Azathoth," Diana announced. "That makes two within the past month. The first one was just an annoyance, asking me if I missed him. This one is more direct. The translated text says _It's coming_."

"The message was in the same abstruse code Rolf used before," Tricia said. "There's virtually no possibility that it was written by a copycat. But we shouldn't assume he sent the messages."

Neal stared at her, puzzled. "I didn't think that was in doubt."

"At first, I didn't either," she admitted. "Rolf is in prison with no access to the internet or telephone. Someone associated with his lawyer could have planted the string of letters and numbers."

"They may have been unaware of the content," Peter added.

She nodded agreement. "That's not as much a concern as the possibility Rolf has a business partner, someone who's been totally off our radar. The partner could have been trained by Rolf but is now acting independently."

Peter exhaled. "Neal, did Klaus ever give an indication of an additional partner?"

"No. During that week I spent with him in Hungary, he only discussed a new crew consisting of the Mansfelds, you and me. Klaus bared his soul to me during that week. He voiced his bitterness over how he'd been deceived. If he were aware of another partner, I'm sure he would have mentioned something."

"Rolf's assistants, Jacek and Marta Kolar, are incarcerated with the same restrictions as Rolf," Diana noted. "If they're involved in some way, they wouldn't be a threat."

"It's only a theory," Tricia admitted, "but I'd like you to consider the possibility and watch for any signs. The natural tendency is to treat the comments as simple taunts, but in the past there was a deadly intention behind them and history could be repeating itself. In this case, being overly cautious is a virtue." She turned to Neal. "You took the correct action in notifying us about the sale of your painting."

Diana stopped kneading the starfish beanbag to arch a questioning eyebrow.

"Some of my paintings are being exhibited at an art gallery," Neal explained.

"Way to go, Caffrey! Which one?"

"A gallery on the Upper West Side called Konstgrotta. It's run by the partner of my art advisor, Myra Stockman. Britta selected a few works by Myra's students to exhibit at her gallery. The painting I made of Klaus's fall from the Metropolitan Museum was sold in early January."

"Neal alerted us," Peter added, "because Azathoth had expressed an interest in it during Neal's first-year exhibition. Back then, someone left a down payment, using the name of one of Lovecraft's characters and Klaus's Leopard business card."

"That order was later canceled," Tricia said. "But this time, the sale is legitimate. Neal, you'll be happy to know your painting was bought by an insurance company for their headquarters in New Jersey. We checked them out and there's no connection to the Mansfelds."

Meaning Neal was free to enjoy the profit without any feeling of guilt. His financial advisor, aka Dante Haversham, had already invested the proceeds.

"Your advice to keep writing the stories was sound," Peter told Tricia. "We may be able to provoke that silent partner into revealing himself by manipulating the plots."

Tricia smiled. "Exactly my thought."

"Do you have anything in mind?" Diana asked her.

"Originally, Henry wasn't going to be a continuing character, but I'd like to change our strategy for him. In a sense he's been our silent partner. Until very recently, the Mansfelds and their organization appeared unaware of him."

Henry hadn't only been a silent partner in the con against the Mansfelds. He'd also been working secretly with El to influence the romantic plotline in Arkham Files.

Diana exchanged smiles with him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. "It's time we invite Henry to the writing group."

"I'm having dinner with him tonight," Neal said. "I can tell him then." Henry and his boyfriend Eric had just returned from the Burke cabin in the Catskills where they'd spent the Martin Luther King Day weekend.

"We'll need a new hook," Peter cautioned. "The old strategy where you were focused on making Rolf regard us sympathetically will no longer be effective."

"Agreed," Tricia said. "In plotting the stories, it's best to assume Rolf is working with a partner. That shouldn't be referenced directly, but we could introduce another arc to make him wonder how much we know."

"I'll bring it up at the next meeting," Diana promised. "It will be an excellent challenge for the newest member of the Arkham Round Table."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal arrived at Henry's loft in NoHo that evening, he heard shouts coming from inside. What had the puppy done now? Splash was a month older since the last time he saw her, and her capacity for mayhem was growing exponentially.

A blood-curdling yell which sounded like Eric made him flinch. Not bothering to knock, Neal fished out a key to the loft from his pocket. He didn't have a gun, but he might be able to distract the thugs. A tap of a button on the side of his watch would send a signal to the Bureau.

He silently opened the door and burst into a laugh. Henry and Eric were charging around the loft, brandishing foam swords, while Splash raced between their legs in an apparent effort to trip them.

"Where's my sword?" Neal demanded. "I'll take down both of you blaggards!"

"No swords for you," Henry admonished, dropping his sword. "You'd whip us both."

"Is this the latest exercise craze? I thought you'd have had enough after skiing all weekend."

"This is Angela's fault," Eric insisted with a laugh.

Neal crossed his arms. "Sure. Blame our cousin. Need I remind you that Henry, Sara, and I were the buccaneers last summer, not Angela."

"Eric's right," Henry insisted. "She called us yesterday with a new props project." He paused for a moment and frowned. "Come to think of it, Eric's the one responsible, not Angela. She liked that Captain Hook costume he wore to the speakeasy party at Halloween so well, she decided to create a new children's musical based on Peter Pan."

"And since Eric was the inspiration, you're required to build the props," Neal guessed. For his cousin, that would be completely logical.

Henry shrugged. "We owe her. She and Michael took care of Splash for us while we were in India."

"But we would have agreed anyway." Eric grinned sheepishly. "Who could resist building a pirate ship?"

"Or playing pirates," Neal added. "Now you know why I took up fencing. If you need help with designing the right dimensions for kiddos, Jones's nephew Ethan would love to be your tester. At eight-years-old, he's just the right age, and he adores fencing."

"Or we could simply have Diana send you back in time like she did in _Time Crystals_ ," Henry suggested.

"Funny you brought that up. Arkham Files came up at work."

Over a pirates' banquet of fajitas, Neal reviewed the afternoon discussion with Tricia and Diana.

"It's about time they included me in the Round Table," Henry grumbled.

Neal chuckled. "Diana predicted that would be your reaction. She also told me to tell you she's only putting the official stamp on what you've been doing for months. Now that Sara and I are a success story, you need to expand your horizons."

"You must be enjoying this," Eric told Neal. "In the future, Henry will be manipulating his own character rather than Arkham Neal and Sara. What's the goal?"

"I'm to toss down the gauntlet, right?" Henry guessed.

"Yeah, and don't get too smug about it. With your participation, the Arkham Files team will be stronger than ever. Mozzie has also designed some interesting power-ups for me. As our characters take it to Azathoth and his minions, Tricia predicts that Rolf and anyone who may be working with him won't be able to resist showing what they're capable of. We were able to lure them out of the shadows before. If Rolf does have a silent partner, he may finally start talking."

Eric winced. "They may not restrict themselves to words. If you're not careful, you could goad them into attacking you personally."

Henry shrugged. "Not likely, at least not at first. Rolf's been defeated by the good guys already. If he's involved in any revenge scenario, it's more likely he wants to taunt us. He craves an audience. The dude's such an egomaniac, he'll do anything he can to snatch the spotlight."

"That's also Tricia's take," Neal agreed.

"What was Peter's reaction?" Henry asked. "His role may need to be altered."

"He liked the idea. Apparently he believes the more trouble our characters get into, the less likely we will in real life."

Henry considered the theory for a brief moment. "Nah, not happening."

Neal exchanged grins with him. "That was my reaction too, but Peter should be allowed to enjoy his fantasy for a while longer."

Drawings and blueprints were scattered at the far end of the dining table. Henry had purchased an extra-long table for his loft as if he knew it would be appropriated for many other purposes. When Neal thought about how much he—and Mozzie—had crammed onto his tiny dinette table, the feature had him sighing with envy. "Are all these sketches for Angela's musical?"

Eric nodded as he contemplated the stack. "This is her thesis project. She intends to supersize Neverland with various islands that Peter Pan and the lost boys will visit."

"Since she uses animals for the characters, you can imagine what the islands will be like," Henry added. "She's even included an island made of ice cream that is inhabited by penguins and polar bears. The lost boys will be meerkats in her version."

"What will Peter Pan be?" Neal asked. "A mongoose?"

"I thought she'd go for a fox or a raccoon," Eric said. "Instead she chose a red panda."

"Some of the inspiration is coming from real life," Henry added. "For Captain Hook, she selected a swaggering leopard."

Neal chuckled. "What would Klaus think about that? When the production's done, I should let him know."

That remark caused Henry to shoot him a sharp look. "You're not in communication with him, are you?"

"Of course not. His trial is just starting. But once he's in prison, I may write to him."

"Do you know if he's in contact with his brother?" Eric asked, passing the plate of tortillas.

"Probably not, but their lawyers could easily pass messages." Klaus's prison term would likely be less than Rolf's. There was no direct evidence linking him to any of the art thefts except the Raphael painting in D.C. The Justice Department had succeeded in having him extradited to the States for both the D.C. theft and the attempted theft of the Vermeer at the Met last year since those cases had the most solid evidence. He was being tried in D.C. Rolf could also be tried in the States for the kidnapping charges, but authorities were still arguing over jurisdiction. The Brits had staked a claim for the fraud Rolf committed when he assumed the identity of a Scima employee. Even more damning, they accused him of complicity in the attempted murder of Peter at the Scima facility outside London last summer. Although it was debatable whether or not Rolf would have rescued Peter at the last minute, that crime alone should be enough to keep Rolf behind bars for decades.

So if Rolf wanted to play games with sending messages to Diana, Neal wasn't going to waste time worrying about it. Keller was behind bars, Adler would be too once his trial wrapped up. Rolf and Klaus were destined to wear orange jumpsuits for the foreseeable future. As far as Neal was concerned, Rolf's messages were a positive. They demonstrated the extent of his frustration. Neal was looking forward to seeing what Diana and Mozzie did with Henry in the new storyline . . . just as long as they remembered Neal was still the protagonist. 

He felt something rub against his leg and looked down into Splash's pleading eyes.

"Ignore her," Eric said. "We're trying to teach her not to beg at the table."

_Sorry, girl, but once we've left the table, no one can complain._

Splash whined as if she understood. Maybe that telepathy his Arkham Files character had with animals was catching. "Are you still taking Splash to work?" Neal asked.

Henry nodded. "It's working out well. There's a dog park near my office where I take her to run during the lunch hour. You could call it my version of Tuesday Tails."

When Neal snickered, Eric asked, "Is this a private joke?"

"When I started working at the Bureau, the team members weren't as adept at tailing a suspect as they are now," Neal explained. "Tuesday Tails was a team exercise I invented where they tried to track my movements during the lunch hour." No need to mention that it had also been a way to establish friendly relations with team members who were wary of having an ex-thief working in their midst.

Now Henry and Splash were engaged in Tuesday Tails. Neal looked forward to dropping in on them. For the past several months, he and Henry had been engaged in a duel of wits, conning each other and sometimes themselves about their love lives. Neal was glad it was behind them. Tricia's warning was a reminder to keep in touch. Peter's life had been upended because of issues Neal dragged him into. Peter never would have been involved with the Mansfelds if it hadn't been for him. Luckily Neal had been the target, not Peter. But now not only Peter but Henry could be marked as well. The time for games was over.

* * *

_Notes: Welcome to a new year in Caffrey Conversation! Although 2006 began with A Witch in Venice, this is the first Caffrey Conversation story of the year. Silent Planet has three chapters and will lead directly to the following story, Glass Angels. I'll post weekly on Wednesday. Many thanks to my writing partner Penna Nomen for her beta help with this story._

_Some readers have asked for longer stories. To me, Caffrey Conversation is one continuing saga (at present over two million words) broken into smaller installments with arcs of various lengths. My stories for 2006 will rotate between Caffrey Conversation, Crossed Lines and Arkham Files. Each story can be read as a standalone. Penna and I are very honored that many of you have read all those two-million-plus words. We hope you'll enjoy what we've planned for 2006._

_Neal's year will unfold over the next twenty-plus stories. In Silent Planet, you'll find many breadcrumbs for what lies ahead. I wrote about some of them for the blog this week: "[Caffrey Conversation: The 2006 Road Map](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-2006-road-map.html)." Penna wrote about some of the fierce dragons she's had to confront recently in what we declared to be the writing year of the dragon. The post is called "[The Dragon Update](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-dragon-update.html)" and makes me wonder if we shouldn't have picked kittens instead. _

_**Background on the Caffrey Conversation AU for new readers** : This series was created by Penna Nomen and begins with her story Caffrey Conversation. Our blog has a list and short summaries for all the stories in chronological order. The primary difference from canon is that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters (Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Hughes, June, and Sara) are the same. _

_Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In the fall of 2004 he entered Columbia University's graduate program in art as a part-time student. In the spring of 2005 Peter and Neal were appointed to the Interpol art crimes task force. The work on the task force is part time and places additional emphasis on art crimes for the White Collar team. In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. Noelle married Peter's older brother Joe during the 2004 Christmas holidays. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Neal has one other cousin, Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Working with the White Collar team are two non-canon characters: Travis Miller, a technical expert, and Tricia Wiese, a profiler. Neal's friends at Columbia include fellow grad students Richard and Aidan. Pins for the entire cast and locations are on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site._

_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Silent Planet board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon)  
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)  
Twitter: [@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)  
  
_


	2. Aloft

**Federal Building. Wednesday, January 18, 2006.**

This was the first official stamped-with the Bureau-seal-of-approval con for Neal since his return from Italy. Burke's crew included not only five team members from White Collar but four irregulars—Mozzie, Richard, Aidan, and Ian. It was enough to keep any con artist smiling all day. Mozzie, of course, was not there in person. Instead, he relied on Neal to phone in frequent updates. It was a tribute to what a remarkable adjustment Mozzie had made that he actually briefly considered coming to the Bureau before getting cold feet.

In many respects, there was a boot camp feel to the activities. Everyone was divided into groups. The sense of urgency was real. Neal was scheduled to be at Scima in two days along with Diana and Jones. Diana was in the lead slot with the role of project coordinator. Jones was tasked with being the lead developer while Neal was to be a concept artist. Peter and Travis were in charge of surveillance and support. Normally Travis would have taken the programming role, but since he was Richard's partner, everyone at Scima knew him from various social events over the past year. In any case, Jones was a better gamer than Travis and he knew enough about programming to talk the lingo.

Peter was working with Jones on the presentation of the fictitious groundbreaking game which Diana had christened with the code name Aloft. As was typical in such cases, the name was obscure and not directly linked to any known game. Diana claimed the term was meant to allude to the protagonist who dwelled in a loft. She also insisted the _A_ referred to artist not Azathoth, but Neal couldn't help feeling it was yet another instance of Azathoth sneaking himself into any scenario.

Diana was in charge of the script for the game. Lovecraft's short story told the gruesome tale of a lonely artist living in Providence who was haunted by what he found in a deserted church. In devising the gameplay, Diana injected Cthulhu Mythos elements she'd already used in her Arkham Files tales, such as the Starry Wisdom cult and the shining trapezohedron.

Neal's assignment was to prepare concept art. Richard helped him give the correct look and feel. Travis and Aidan were tasked with dreaming up a cutting-edge virtual reality breakthrough so transformational that Pod2 wouldn't be able to resist it.

By the end of the day, they'd nailed down the framework. The player would enter the game in the loft and begin drawing on their canvas to create the look of their avatar. The canvas would then come alive with the image of Yog-Sothoth instructing them to go to the haunted church to retrieve the shining trapezohedron. The first quest would involve navigating the ghast and nightgaunt-ridden streets of Providence to enter the church. Once the trapezohedron was secured, it would be the launching point for new adventures.

Diana was a woman possessed. For the past year, she'd written Arkham Files stories, and now she acted as if the video game was being made of them.

During the scam Rolf had conducted at Scima a year ago, writers had prepared a preliminary script for the movie. Scima had retained it and Ian was letting Diana use it for reference, little realizing how he was fueling her flames. Was she an indicator of what Mozzie would become? He'd been working on scripts of _Yellowface the Masked Avenger_ for the Japanese animé company Hotaru. Sara had put him in contact with an agent for whom he was preparing a _Doctor Who_ script. Since he was also co-writing Arkham Files with Diana, would he start dreaming of Technicolor fantasies as well?

**June's Mansion. Thursday afternoon.**

"I doubt we'll get much work done on the next story," June told El, pouring her a cup of coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard. "Mozzie may not be able to focus on the plot with so much else going on."

El had arrived early to June's for the meeting of the Arkham Round Table writing group. For the moment, it was just the two of them.

"Peter didn't tell me much about the case except that it involved video games," El continued as she took a seat around the dining room table. "He also mentioned that Jones and Diana would be unable to attend today's meeting."

"Tricia isn't coming either," June said, passing her a plate of Chef Emil's lemon-almond biscotti. "She's been called in to profile the employees."

"I bet you know more about the case than I do," El said casually. Her question didn't qualify as a fishing expedition. Not really. Mozzie spoke with June all the time and had probably filled her in. If June happened to mention something, Peter would never know.

"Mozzie doesn't have Peter's restrictions." June sprinkled sugar into her coffee, a suspicion of a smile on her face as if she'd read El's mind. "How that man goes on! He said he's assisting the team on some sting to protect Scima." Her brow furrowed. "No, _assisting_ 's not the correct word. Key player is the closest approximation to his importance. He intimated that the team is developing a game based on Arkham Files, but who knows if it's true? In any case, he'll be here shortly. I should warn you, he signed up for a creative writing course at Columbia this semester and had his first class today. I'm sure he'll have even more ideas than usual."

"What identity did he use to enroll? A grad student? Visiting professor?"

"I believe he's in the doctorate program for astrophysics. That's one of his favorite aliases. Whatever you do, don't ask him about his dissertation."

"I'm glad we have a chance to talk first." El fingered her cup as she hesitated on how to broach the topic.

"No one's asked about it yet," June assured her. "It was natural for your character to feel rundown. If we were being realistic, we would have shown everyone experiencing travel-related ailments. For your stomach to be queasy because of the unusual Moroccan cuisine is probably what most readers thought. But, of course, you and I know the true cause."

El had told herself that she was using the Round Table members as a test to see how many readers would guess the truth. She wasn't surprised that June was the first to mention it, but perhaps the others were waiting for her to give an explanation.

"It's an excellent idea for Arkham Elizabeth to become pregnant," June said. "She and Peter have been married for a number of years. It's a natural development of the storyline. Has Peter commented on it?"

"No, except to joke about his character needing to take better care of me."

"That's probably not what you wanted to hear."

"No, it's not," El admitted.

June hesitated for a moment. "If you'd rather not discuss it, I understand, but I couldn't help but wonder if you're taking a page from the plotline you and Henry devised for Neal. Our two lovebirds have both expressed their gratitude for you helping their relationship along. Are you attempting to do something similar with Peter?"

"Honestly, I don't think so. If anything, it's more to help me evaluate. When Peter and I got married, we agreed to wait to have children. I was eager to establish my career. Simply getting used to married life seemed like enough of a challenge. Later, we tried for several months. When we weren't successful, we decided it was probably for the best. We still had plenty of time and I wanted to launch my catering business."

"But Burke Premiere Events is now a success . . . and your biological clock is starting to make itself heard."

El nodded. "Last year, one case after another demanded Peter's attention. The moment never seemed right."

June shrugged. "The Mansfelds are behind bars. Adler's in prison. You're no longer part of any sting that I'm aware of."

_But it's always something._ She couldn't tell June about the concerns Peter had in assuming the alias of Steinar Wolff, a dark web identity who'd replaced Rolf Mansfeld. Now Tricia had raised the possibility that Rolf had a silent partner. Did Rolf know about Peter's alias? Was he plotting revenge? And Rolf was far from being Peter's only enemy. For an FBI agent, threats were routine. But agents weren't supposed to put their personal lives on hold. At least, that's what she and Peter had tried to convince Neal. Were they just as guilty as Neal?

"Would it be wrong for me to use Arkham Files as a personal testing ground?" El asked.

"I don't think so. The storyline is an interesting plot development. It will add more depth to your character's role. And now that Henry is a factor in the stories, it could be quite useful."

"Exactly," El said relieved at the slant June was taking. "There's absolutely no reason for anyone to infer a connection to me and Peter."

June smiled. "It will be our secret, and as long as we're exchanging secrets, here's one I haven't told anyone. I'm considering buying Riffs."

"The rock club in SoHo?"

"That's right. Randy Weston, the owner of the music store next door, called me about the opportunity. He wants Masterson Music to consider acquiring it."

El chuckled. "So I'm not the only one taking advantage of the stories. When Mozzie mentioned adding a rock club to the arc, I wondered if he had a hidden agenda. That was your idea, wasn't it?"

June smiled mischievously. "Guilty as charged. No one else knows about Riffs, and I'd like to keep it that way till the board makes a decision. That could be months away. A formal study of the club's finances will need to be made."

"Randy knows who has the leverage. Since you're on the board and own a majority of the stock, I expect you could make a strong case."

"I could easily justify it as a way to discover new talent," June conceded. "Randy lends out instruments for performers to use. His daughter Samantha has a business degree. She may be interested in managing it for us." She stood up to refill her coffee cup. "Henry called me. He's attending our meeting today. I'm sure he'll have ideas on the subject."

"On that and every other one plus topics we haven't even considered," El said. "Trust me, I know how his brain works."

"Change is coming to Arkham," June said. "I wonder how our characters will respond. The idea of the rock club is a case in point. I'm torn about changing the atmosphere of the coffeehouse. I'm not sure Arkham Neal is ready for the frenetic atmosphere of a rock club. Our shy character seemed well suited to soulful ballads."

"But will he stay that way? Now that Henry's back in his life, Neal could be a changed man—or alien." 

**Columbia University. Thursday evening.**

After his first full day of classes of the new semester, Neal collapsed on the floor of his art studio and picked up his guitar. At White Collar, the team was continuing to work on the Scima op. This was one sting he was immensely grateful he wasn't the leader. All his brain wanted to do was curl up and take a nap.

He strummed a few random chords, his mind too numb to focus on a tune.

Doctoral candidates weren't supposed to have full-time jobs. That's why they were given stipends. Nor did they pursue a second masters. Why had he ever let himself be talked into pursuing a PhD?

As in the fall semester, he'd bunched all his coursework onto one day. This term, he was sacrificing his Thursdays to the scholastic gods. Each one of his seminars had been brutal. He was concentrating on the nineteenth century with classes on Neoclassicism and Romanticism. He'd initially picked a course on Japanese art as his third elective, but how could he resist a seminar on the Pre-Raphaelites? So he'd signed up for both, despite his advisor's efforts to dissuade him.

He'd left his door open—a symbolic gesture of a bolt-hole he might need to prepare if he were to survive the semester. When he heard approaching footsteps, he was glad to see a friendly face attached to them. Richard's schedule wasn't as insane as Neal's. He and Aidan were pursuing a master's in visual arts in the evening, meaning they had no daytime courses.

"You still alive?" Richard asked.

"Barely," Neal said, only half-joking. "I finished the day with my first session with Sherkov." His advisor was mentoring him on the thesis he'd also need to prepare this semester.

"Did he approve your topic?"

"He was downright gleeful." Neal plunked the most dissonant diminished seventh chord he could think of. "I quote: 'Since you have selected the three Carracci brothers, I shall expect _trrrrrreeeeeple_ the length.' " Vanya's Russian accent wasn't that severe, but Neal was in a wallowing kind of mood.

Richard groaned sympathetically and slid down on the floor next to him. "It's truly unfortunate that you picked artists from the Italian Renaissance. That period's not only your strength. It's his as well."

"It doesn't matter. If I'd selected artists from a different period, he would have lectured me to include additional details to compensate. Did I mention he's also stipulated I submit a detailed proposal this semester for my dissertation? It's not due for over three years. I'd hoped to put it off an additional five years or so. Twenty sounds reasonable."

"Man, am I glad I'm not going for a doctorate." Richard didn't say anything more, but Neal filled in the blanks. After this spring, Richard would have his evenings and weekends back.

Neal took a sip of his by now decidedly tepid coffee. He'd need a couple more extra-large mugs to survive the evening. An appointment with his art advisor Myra Stockman was yet to come. "How did it go at work?"

"Peter called in Tricia to prepare profiles of the employees. Ian had provided their files. Tricia sucked out every bit of information I had about them and then let me escape. Travis and Jones were still working on the specs for this fantasy of a game. I must say, I'm starting to wish it weren't a con. I'd love to play it."

Neal nodded absently, eyeing his paintings. Myra was already was familiar with the series of river paintings he was preparing for the master's exhibition. What new demands would she dream up?

Richard also scanned the group. "You realize you left one out."

"What do you mean?"

"You told me the rivers symbolize important events in your life. You have the rivers in St. Louis, Baltimore, New York, Paris, Geneva . . . Where's the Miskatonic River?"

Maybe normally he wouldn't have thought that was hysterically funny, but now Neal couldn't stop laughing. What would Myra say to him if he included Arkham's river?

"Just think what you could do with it," Richard said, grinning. "Cthulhu, the octopus-headed monster, could be rising from the depths."

"Don't tell Diana that. It will give her new ideas to torture my character."

"Too late. She already has several. You may want to remind her that the video game is only a scam. With the script she's working on, it's plain she has enough ideas for an entire franchise."

"Have you decided on the theme for your exhibition?" Neal asked, in an attempt to divert Richard from the topic of monsters, a sensitive subject what with the exhibition already producing gargantuan amounts of stress for both of them. Myra would visit Richard's studio after she'd pulverized Neal.

"I think so, if Myra approves. Oddly enough, it was a Scima coworker who provided the inspiration. You'll meet her tomorrow. Her name is Blair Reynolds. She's a programmer with the heart of an artist. I've been using her as a soundboard for the creatures I'm making for _Silent Planet_ , and that got us started talking about the creatures living within us."

"Like our inner demons?"

"Not necessarily. Sometimes it's our true selves or aspects of our personality. They can appear human, but may have traits of animals or alien characteristics. As a gay man, I grew up hiding aspects of my personality to avoid raising issues, especially with my father. Blair is a trans woman. Her struggles have been much more intense than any I went through. I'd like to make sculptures that reveal our internal layers." Richard gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Myra said she wanted the pieces to be soul-baring. This may be more than she bargained for. I'd like to have the pieces reveal internal layers in the act of emerging, but she may think they read too much like horror."

Soul-baring. Was that what his paintings were? After Richard left, Neal contemplated them once more. They seemed shallow and trivial compared to Richard's vision. Perhaps he should scrap them and start from scratch.

By the time Myra showed up, he still hadn't decided. She was a severe critic. He trusted her to tell him if he was lost at sea.

She pointed to the three paintings that were almost completed. "This first group—I'll label them your morose collection—you worked on them in the summer, didn't you?"

"Yes, I was hoping to get a head start."

"There's a uniformity which works well for some artists, but I've grown to expect your paintings to have greater evanescence."

Had his feelings about the Braque painting and the Mansfelds seeped too much into his work? "Some of them I find difficult to work on now," he admitted.

"You could pick one or two representative works and mix them with more recent paintings," she said. "You still have several months before the exhibition." Her eyes darted to a work at the bottom of the stack. "Is that the Pre-Raphaelite homage you were struggling with last year?"

He nodded gloomily. "I've picked it up again, but it's still on life support."

"Let me be the judge of that. What are you trying to convey?"

"I scrapped my first subject. I'd like to depict the mood of a sleeping knight being awakened by Morgan le Fay."

"In an expressionist work? You should continue it. You could even bring in your rivers theme. I'm no expert on King Arthur, but surely a river is featured somewhere in the legends."

Was there? He vaguely remembered something about the River Avon. Sara would likely know. She'd studied Arthurian legends in college. He hadn't told her yet that she was his model for the Fay enchantress.

"You should experiment with different moods," Myra continued. "I once threatened not to include your name on your first-year exhibition but just hang a fedora on the easel. You may have won me over. Some of these works"—she pointed to the paintings of St. Louis and Amboise—"are too restrictive. They lack the imagination you've injected into the painting of the Hudson. My advice to you is to stop trying to bottle yourself up. You said you identified with the river. Take that liquidity and embrace it. Even if takes you to the ocean or an unknown world."

Set himself free? For the past two years, he'd been working at reining himself in. Suddenly the Miskatonic River didn't seem so outrageous.

"I have some good news for you," Myra said when she stood up to leave. "Britta told me another one of your paintings was sold this afternoon. She'll send you the details in an email."

"Which one was it?" Neal asked eagerly. This was the kind of pep talk he needed.

" _Sandpipers_. That makes two works she's sold. I expect she'll want to continue exhibiting your paintings. I doubt you need more motivation, but in case you do, there's nothing like a sales invoice to provide it." Myra smiled. "Congratulations! You showed a wide range of emotions last year. I'd like to see more of that in this year's collection. We've discussed you're a shapeshifter in your art." Her face turned stern. "Don't lose that."

Once the initial glow receded, Neal wondered if he should tell Tricia. The connection to the Mansfelds was so tenuous, it surely wasn't relevant. He'd seen the sandpipers on a lonely stretch of beach at Long Island National Wildlife Refuge right before he and Peter had been abducted by Azathoth. The birds had reminded him of the wooden pipe played in the haunted house they were taken to. But no one else would know about that. Still, he decided to go ahead. Tricia said she welcomed false alarms. This would be yet one more.

**White Collar. Friday morning.**

"Nikko Cavanaugh reporting for duty," Neal announced as he sauntered into the upstairs conference room.

Peter looked up from his laptop to smile a greeting at Project Aloft's lead artist. Jones had picked the alias for Neal, deciding it would be safer for everyone's alias to begin with the same letter of their name. If someone started to address him as Neal, they could quickly recover. Diana was now Deidre while Jones was Joe.

Nikko was dressed casually in a black turtleneck and jeans. Appearing to copy Richard's habitual look, he was wearing running shoes and had a three-day scruff.

Yesterday afternoon, Peter had emailed him a summary of what had taken place at work, so Neal was up to speed on the agenda, or at least as much as Peter cared to reveal. At the start of the semester, Peter had resolved to avoid intruding on Neal's weekly day at Columbia, and already he'd fallen short. It had been ten o'clock at night before Neal texted confirmation—a sign he was as swamped by his courses as he'd predicted?

Like Neal, Jones had stopped shaving for the duration of the mission and was dressed in denim. Diana for her role of project lead had coupled a tweed jacket with jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Nikko, I've got your art in this snazzy portfolio Scima provided," Diana said. They also all had company-issued backpacks.

"While the three of us are at Scima, what will Peter and Travis be doing?" Neal asked. "Lounging in the surveillance van?"

"What else?" Travis agreed calmly. "You guys will be working your tails off while we drink beer and watch sci-fi movies."

Peter stepped in before Neal could mock that obvious falsehood. "In reality, aside from monitoring all communications, we'll work with the irregular member of our team on responses to internet chatter."

Mozzie was spreading rumors about Aloft from a remote site. Responses had been gratifyingly swift, fueled by Mozzie's strategy of planting phony inquiries and offers.

So far they'd been unable to narrow down the list of suspects. Nothing in the bios provided by Scima raised a red flag. Their time in the van would be spent going over the bank account records and financial histories of the employees. Most of the data would come from the IRS. Boring stuff, Neal would say, but the grease which often led to a conviction.

In addition, Peter and Travis would finalize the preparations for Saturday. Diana and Jones were aware of what was being planned, but Diana insisted that Neal would want to be surprised along with the Scima employees. Hah. Would Neal ever believe Peter wasn't the one behind the subterfuge?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

A team retreat? In January? In the woods? When Neal heard the news, a vision of himself on snowshoes, lost in a vast snow-covered forest, flashed through his brain. By the quick smirk Diana zinged him, she must have known in advance that Ian would announce it. Peter hadn't mentioned the retreat in the detailed list of instructions he'd sent him. That could only mean he knew Neal would hate the idea. And what would fill Neal with ice cubes? Winter survivalist boot camp. Hadn't he already been tortured enough?

Peter might not know about the time Henry dragged him into the snowy wilderness several years ago. The purpose of that trip was supposedly to learn how to drive in icy conditions but actually Henry's intention was to make Neal crash—and no matter how much Henry argued that it had been a good lesson and no damage was done except to the car, Henry was still due payback. But Peter couldn't have forgotten their harrowing trek through the snow at Lynx Mountain. It had only been a year ago. Last month they'd nearly frozen on a snowy hillside outside of Florence. No way would Neal participate in another winter boot camp.

Up to the retreat announcement, the morning had gone without a hitch. Dian had made a presentation to the Scima employees. Her enthusiasm for the project made Neal suspect she already had plans to incorporate the concepts into future Arkham Files stories.

Afterward they broke into groups. Neal worked with the artists, Jones with programmers, and Diana with game strategists. Ian directed the various teams to give demos of their work, but the underlying purpose was to provide the White Collar agents a chance to become acquainted with them. Tricia had reinforced the need to identify potential weaknesses that Pod2 could exploit. The most probable triggers were greed and blackmail.

Peter and Travis were researching bank statements which could potentially identify anyone with money issues, but there were no guarantees. Living expenses were high. All the employees were under forty with many of them paying off student loans. Someone who wasn't struggling to make ends meet was the exception rather than the norm.

The responsibility of Neal and his fellow undercover agents was to work the blackmail angle. Minute tells such as nervousness, distraction or even verbosity could all be signs of someone with secrets. They hoped that if someone did have pressure points, they weren't skilled at hiding them.

Travis's team had worked during the night to bug the entire office complex. If there was a mole, they'd have no place to hide. Neal assumed the same would be true of the retreat, but there was little information provided on what it would entail. They were told to bring duffels and plan to stay overnight with extra gear to be provided by the facility. A bus had been chartered to take their group to the offsite location.

_Peter, what did you do?_ All Neal knew was that no one at Scima appeared to be clued in either. Retreats to work on games were commonplace, but this was being billed as a team-building exercise, making it sound like Peter's fingerprints were all over it.

By the end of the day, no suspicious communications had been intercepted. Neal and the others were questioned extensively about their project, but no one appeared unduly inquisitive. Although Neal spent his time with the graphics designers, Blair, the programmer Richard had mentioned, was the friendliest. She was genuinely interested in his concepts for the art, and soon he found himself sketching new scenes while she described how she'd program them. Soon she brought in her partner Raven who was also a programmer, and the three of them began to work in earnest.

"If you weren't so busy on Aloft, we'd try to get you transferred to New York," Richard commented, pulling a lab stool over to join them. "What are you working on now?"

"Players often switch genders for roleplaying," Blair said. "We're playing with the concept of the artist staring at themselves on the canvas and realizing they've been hiding their true gender. How could they transform themselves so bits and pieces would be revealed?"

"You could take it a step further," Raven said, "and have that hidden gender be like a weapon that they could transform into on the fly."

At the end of the day, Ian made an announcement which sparked everyone's interest. One of the creative directors from the parent company Scima Workshop was in town and would participate in the retreat. He would also take the opportunity to receive a demo of Aloft. Neal knew the demo didn't exist. It was the bait to entice a secretive mole out of hiding. And that bigshot was none other than Steinar Wolff.

Neal kept his grin to himself when he heard the news. Rolf had masqueraded for years as Alistair Chapman, creative director at Scima Workshop. Now Peter was using the alias White Collar had created to replace Rolf's dark web persona with his own. Rolf would never hear of it, but it must be a source of great satisfaction for Peter. He'd staked a claim to Rolf's former turf. The con almost made up for the expected other activities on the coming day. There'd been a snowstorm a few days ago. Conditions were supposed to be below freezing all day. Perfect weather for what Peter had in mind.

Neal wasn't alone in his dislike of the cold. The bus ride was spent trying to wheedle details out of Ian, who appeared to enjoy the attention immensely. Scima had developed several ski and snowboard games. The consensus was that they were about to endure a physical version of the games. It was just the sort of torture Neal's polar bear of a boss would love to dream up.

* * *

_Notes: The Clueless con is over but secret machinations at the Arkham Round Table appear to be thriving. They're the topic of this week's blog post, "[Reboot of the Arkham Round Table](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/04/reboot-of-arkham-round-table.html)." _

_Penna posted a short, fluffy fic called "_ [ _Demons, Drive-ins and Dives_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622193) _" for the Supernatural fandom. It's not part of the Crossed Lines series, but there is a Caffrey Conversation Easter egg hidden within. So appropriate for a story published on Easter Sunday! She wrote about the story for the blog. The post is "_ [ _The Pie Hole_ ](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-pie-hole.html) _."_

_Neal's fixated on what kind of boot camp awaits him but hazards come from an unexpected direction in next week's chapter._

_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Silent Planet board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:_ [ _pinterest.com/caffreycon_ ](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon) __  
_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: _ [ _pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com_ ](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com) _  
_ _Twitter:_ [ _@silbrith_ ](https://twitter.com/silbrith)


	3. Room 9

**On the Road.** **Saturday, January 21, 2006.**

Neal slouched deeper into the bus seat. They'd crossed the George Washington Bridge a few minutes ago and were now heading north along the Hudson. He was all too familiar with that highway. It was the road to the Catskills where the Burke family cabin was located. In other words, snow country. Peter was surely familiar with all the ski resorts in the area.

It was tempting to fake an injury. The icy conditions were ideal for a slip on the snow, and a twisted ankle would keep him from skiing in the wilderness. He could stay in the lodge by the fire and sip brandy while the others endured the harsh arctic conditions.

When the bus rolled to a stop by a large Victorian house in Alpine, New Jersey on the banks of the Hudson River with nary a ski lift in sight, the sun began to peek out from behind the looming storm clouds.

"Ian was messing with our heads," Blair said, exchanging relieved smiles with Neal. She'd sat next to him during the ride. "We won't turn into human popsicles after all. This is a gaming facility. We've spent numerous weekends here working on projects. It looks like this will be more a busman's holiday than I expected."

Neal pictured Peter's smirk even though he wasn't present on the bus. This called for a revenge prank, but he'd be generous and wait till after the conclusion of the op.

The house had been divided into numerous rooms supposedly for gaming although Neal couldn't tell much since the doors were closed. Whiteboards giving the schedule for each room were mounted in the hallway. The sleeping quarters were barracks-style with bunk beds. There wasn't much of a kitchen. It appeared to be mainly used for brewing coffee and storing cold drinks. As soon as they arrived, Ian placed an order with the local pizza shop. Given that he was surrounded by programmers, Neal fully expected to be living off pizza for the duration of the retreat, and no one would hear any complaints coming from him. It could have been so much worse.

As soon as the group had stowed their duffels, Ian divided them into six teams, each with a mixture of artists and developers. Their first task was to select a name based on a fantasy world. Neal wasn't thrilled with his team's enthusiasm for Mordor. His suggestion of Tatooine had been voted down. Some of the groups started with video games, while the others, including Neal's team, had a Lego room to play in. The video games were all non-Scima releases. After a day of practice, the evening would be spent in death-match competitions and a presentation of their Lego creations.

Neal was glad Blair was a member of his team. Diana had asked Raven to be in her group. During the bus trip, Diana and Raven had sat across the aisle from him. Despite Diana's chatter, Raven had seemed withdrawn throughout the trip. It could be that she simply wasn't a morning person, but her behavior could be a signal that something was bothering her.

"The only rule is that it can't have anything to do with any of the games we're working on," Blair said, scanning the instructions for the Lego project. "Building Mount Doom isn't high on my list."

"How about Peter Pan's pirate ship?" Neal suggested, figuring he might get a few ideas to suggest for Angela's props.

One of the developers chuckled. "We could build a giant animated alligator with a ticking clock inside."

Blair nodded slowly. "A kickass Tinker Bell transformed into a Ninja fighter could be entertaining."

Neal had no clue how one would go about building any of the ideas the team was tossing around, but he'd spread the magic dust by suggesting the concept. The details he'd gladly leave to the others.

When Peter arrived at the inn, Neal, Diana, and Jones were called into Room 9 with the avowed purpose of demonstrating Aloft.

"Enjoying your retreat?" Peter asked once the door was closed. He had the complacent smile of a prank-master.

"Particularly since I was resigned to spending it in snowdrifts," Neal admitted.

"Winter boot camp is still coming," Peter admonished, "but not in the middle of a sting." His expression grew serious. "We've scoured the financial statements and so far haven't found anyone with unusual loans. Everyone has debts of some sort."

"We've managed to identify a few employees with personal issues," Diana said. "One has a special-needs child. Some of the employees are helping their parents. One of the women has a sick mother in the hospital."

"We'll need to shake the tree to identify the perp," Jones said and pointed to his laptop. "This should do the trick. We've loaded it with fake Aloft files and will store it in this room."

"Ian will spread the word that I've decided to stay and participate in the games," Peter said. "Room 9 is off-limits to all employees. If someone wants to steal files, it will most likely happen during the night, and we're ready for them. Before you arrived, Travis installed sensors and surveillance cameras both in the room as well as the connecting corridor."

"I've read the messages you posted on the Cube," Ian said. "They should have Pod2 drooling. If someone is working on the inside, they must be under orders to steal whatever data they can." 

It would most likely be a waiting game till the middle of the night. The odds of anything happening before then were remote. Neal and the rest of the team were on their own to mingle and participate in the activities while hoping they could scrounge a few additional breadcrumbs about the identity of the mole.

The virtual reality gaming room was the most popular venue at the retreat. Everyone jostled for time slots. Neal got caught up in the enthusiasm as well. He was supposedly painting scenes for a VR game. Shouldn't he experience one?

A beta version of _Finding Nemo_ seemed innocent enough. But the minute Neal covered his eyes with the headset, he knew it was a bad idea. When even little Pearl, a lavender baby octopus, sent ice cubes down his back, he should have bailed immediately. It was like she was a minion of the mighty Cthulhu, or at the very least a nasty cthylla like the one Diana had injected into _Time Crystals_.

The sharks swimming through the reef were also a lot scarier than Neal remembered from the movie. Where was Marlin when he needed him? He could hear the excited exclamations of other gamers faintly through his headset. All they'd hear from him was the faint glug of _Help!_ as he was carried off to a watery grave.

He yanked off his headset, declared game over, and let the next eager gamer have his surplus time.

The kitchen was a safe retreat. The only wine came in gallon jugs but he was desperate, and his nerves didn't need any extra caffeine. He took his glass into the TV lounge off the kitchen and slouched into a chair. He had the room to himself since everyone else was engaged in team activities. He could go back to the Lego room and construct animals for Neverland. Unless his imagination turned them into animatronic monsters . . .

Richard stepped into the lounge, carrying a beer, and took a seat next to him. "I was in the VR room when you left. Those games can get pretty intense."

Neal pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes to erase the images. He realized with dismay that his face was wet with sweat. "VR games aren't my friend."

"I figured. I was playing _Resident Evil_. When you fled, you looked like you'd seen one of the mind-controlling parasites in my game. What were you playing?"

" _Finding Nemo_ ," Neal admitted with a groan. "Go ahead and laugh."

Richard controlled his chuckles. "This was the horror version, I gather?"

"You might be surprised." Neal took a slow breath, forcing his racing heart to slow down. He knew Richard would understand since he'd nearly fallen prey to Rolf's VR manipulation as well. "I didn't think I remembered when Rolf's doctor put the headset on me, but slipping it on today brought back some old demons." Snapshots of scenes from the earlier manipulation were still stuttering faintly in his brain, interspersed with Pearl and her buddies.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Richard said. "Other gamers have reported heightened sensitivities, and they don't have your history with VR. Scima's funding research in the area. How Penfold used their facility to brainwash you was a wakeup call."

Neal shrugged, embarrassed that the trauma he'd experienced continued to spark such a severe reaction. "My therapist warned me that I might have some lingering issues. He was right."

"There are reports of disorientation and nausea from using the devices."

"Have you had any symptoms?"

"No," he admitted, "but a couple of the other employees have experienced bad reactions. One reported recurring insomnia afterward."

Neal knew that Richard was trying to make him feel better, but admitting his susceptibility was an uncomfortable subject. In his former life, any perceived weakness was a vulnerability which an enemy could take advantage of with potentially lethal consequences.

Peter had done his best to drill into Neal that he shouldn't hide his issues, but his automatic response of "I'm fine," regardless of the circumstances, was a coat of armor which was hard to shed. Still, it wasn't like enemies were lurking behind every doorway. No harm in easing up a bit.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Diana lay on her bunk bed, eyes wide open. She'd changed into sleep pants and a tank top but had no intention of going to sleep. She knew Neal and Jones were the same way, although they were able to keep watch in shifts. Not for the first time, she sighed over the need to have more female agents at White Collar. She'd slipped her earpiece in before lying down. With her long hair, no one would notice it.

Peter and Ian were the only ones who had private rooms. Ian might be sleeping, but Diana suspected Peter was also awake. In the van parked across the street, Travis and his assistant were undoubtedly keeping close tabs on the monitors.

They'd hyped Project Aloft as much as they dared. Throughout the day, Jones had been surrounded by programmers eager for more information. She'd also had to fend off requests. Diana had circulated among the video game rooms all day, leaving the Lego room to Neal the non-gamer. She was eager to test a theory. Could she detect any vulnerabilities through an analysis of the types of games the Scima team members chose?

Diana had put herself in the shoes of the unknown mole. Her adrenaline would be racing. She'd never been a spy before. She'd likely been given instructions but she'd want to get into the groove, and as a gamer, the best way would be through roleplaying. _Snake Eater_ in the _Metal Gear_ franchise was an ideal warmup.

The action stealth game had been out for about a year and was one of the most popular games in the retreat. Which employees played it as if their lives depended on it? Diana had zeroed in on two people, neither one of whom she wanted to believe would be responsible. But Tricia cautioned her against letting sneaky prejudices color her objectivity.

A slight noise alerted her someone was standing up. She glanced at her watch. Two o'clock. It could be someone needing to pee. Each dorm room had a large communal bathroom attached to the sleeping area. There were additional facilities down the hall, but unless someone had an attack of the midnight munchies, there was no need to leave the sleeping quarters.

The LED night lights provided sufficient lighting to avoid tripping on bags and beds, but they weren't adequate to see features. Diana's heart sank when she recognized a pair of rainbow tie-dye sleep pants. Blair and Raven had identical outfits, but only Raven had long black hair. Her mom was in the hospital. Was that the trigger for her turning corporate spy? That would explain why she'd been so focused on _Snake Eater_.

Diana waited for five minutes before following her. She'd kept her gun and badge in a fanny pack under her pillow. Everyone else was sound asleep, including Blair. Good. This would be messy enough without Raven's girlfriend present.

Diana slipped silently into the hallway in bare feet. The sleeping quarters were all upstairs with the gaming rooms on the main floor. Diana had checked out the staircase earlier. By staying close to the wall, she was able to avoid the creaks. She'd resolved not to call Travis before finding out if Raven was in Room 9 but he contacted her midway down the stairs.

"Someone powered on the laptop," Travis said through her earpiece. "I've alerted Peter. He's on his way."

Diana reported her position. Travis instructed her to wait till Peter arrived. For now, they weren't alerting Jones and Neal. The more people were involved, the greater likelihood of rousing the entire house. In this type of situation, the fewer who were in on it, the better. Diana wanted to hear Raven's story before making any judgment. Damn it, she liked the programmer, but then she liked everyone at Scima. The trap was leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Peter was only a minute behind her. In his sweats, he looked slightly more official than she did in the cat-print top and sleep pants Christie had selected for her to take. Neither one of them said a word but took out their guns. He tested the doorknob. Diane snorted inwardly. Amateur. Raven had forgotten to lock the door when she entered. Peter nodded to her then opened the door.

"Freeze!" His voice was a loud whisper.

Raven was sitting at a table, bent over Jones's laptop, when they entered. Her long hair obscured her face. She jerked her head up, looking terrified, and quickly raised her hands in surrender. Diana quietly closed the door.

"Stand away from the computer," Peter ordered. "We're FBI agents, and you're under arrest."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

By the time Neal and Jones arrived at Room 9, Travis and Ian were also on their way. Raven, the would-be corporate spy, was sitting handcuffed at the table. Neal suspected Peter had used the cuffs to reinforce how much trouble she was in.

Normally, she would have been dragged off to be interrogated at the Bureau, but Peter hoped to persuade her to cooperate, and for that, Ian's outrage was a fitting hook.

"Bloody hell, why'd you do it, Rave?" Ian glared at her, his shock of ice-blond hair standing straight up. "Stealing code? What would have been next? _Silent Planet_? The game we've all been pouring our blood, sweat, and tears into? You're a bloody kidnapper!"

Raven's face was bleached of color except for bright scarlet blotches on her cheeks as she physically cringed under the weight of his invective. "I never would have tampered with the code for _Silent Planet_. As soon as Mom was out of the hospital, I was going to turn myself in. But I couldn't take a chance before she was released." Her eyes welled up with tears. "He'd already made her worse. He claimed he'd kill her if I didn't do as he said."

"Who approached you?" Peter demanded. A recorder was on the table. Raven must have waived her right to have an attorney present.

"Last Saturday, I got a call at home. The man claimed to be a reporter and asked for insider tips on _Silent Planet_. I refused to give him anything. I thought that would be the end of it. My mother's been in the hospital for the past two weeks suffering from complications from lupus. The next day—that was Sunday—I got a call from the hospital that she'd taken a turn for the worse and was on life support. When I went to the hospital, no one could give me an explanation for why she'd become so ill, but by the end of the day she seemed to be better. That night, the same man called, and said that I had to follow his instructions or the next time Mom wouldn't recover."

"Why didn't you come to me with this?" Ian demanded.

She flushed. "He said he'd know if I went to the police or told anyone. He claimed that if I provided details of the innovations, he'd leave me alone and no one would ever find out." She bit her lower lip and added in a lower voice, "Mom's here illegally. I figured if I went to the authorities, she could be deported, and me along with her."

Ian raised a brow at Peter. "What happens now?"

"It's your call. We can arrest her or hold off for the time being." He turned to Raven. "Are you willing to cooperate and work with us?"

"You'll be able to protect Mom? Not tell immigration officials about her?"

Peter tightened his lips into a thin line and glanced around the room before replying. Neal gave him marks for making her sweat a little more. "I can arrange for a security detail at the hospital. Her legal status is not something I'm interested in, and I can vouch for my agents. Your status is what you should be concerned with."

Raven had made a spectacularly bad error of judgment. She was being given a chance to help her case, but there was no discussion about her future. The top priority was the extortionist.

It was still the middle of the night. No one else was awake. As far as the other employees were concerned, nothing had happened. Raven swore she hadn't told anyone, not even Blair.

Ian dialed back his anger as he heard about her motive. There was a familial aspect to his relationship with the employees. Now one of their own had messed up big time. Richard had told Neal that Raven was one of their best programmers, a genius at bringing their wild ideas to life. Would Ian give her a second chance? Should he?

Raven had been instructed to copy the hard drive of the laptop. She'd only spoken with the man they presumed was Pod2 by phone. The number was that of an untraceable burner phone. The miniature device she was using had Travis's nose twitching with curiosity. He intended to load it with data encrypted in an esoteric programming language he'd created. Rolf was a master of devising the arcane languages. In deciphering his files, Travis and Aidan developed expertise in the subject as well. Now they were bitten by the bug. Travis was particularly proud of a programming language he'd invented which relied on the Vulcan language as constructed by a linguist fan. White Collar's goal was that even if Pod2 was able to download the contents of the drive, the authenticity couldn't be verified.

Raven followed the instructions she was given to the letter. On Monday morning, she left the flash drive with the doorman of her apartment building. It was sealed inside a padded envelope addressed to A.B. Spelman. The alias was an obvious play on "beta gamer" since _spel_ was Dutch for _game_. The drive was too small for Travis to include a tracker but to compensate, he'd embedded tracker threads within the envelope padding.

A messenger service picked it up an hour later and delivered it to an apartment building in Chelsea. Agents were tracking the messenger so closely that they were on hand to witness the delivery to the man identifying himself as Spelman.

The identification he carried was for Jon Molina, most likely another alias. Molina was immediately placed under arrest for corporate espionage, extortion, and attempted homicide. Had he precipitated Mrs. Nguyen's collapse or had he merely taken advantage of it? Peter was piling on the maximum number of charges in an attempt to make him talk.

The sweep of Molina's studio apartment didn't take much time. It was furnished simply with modular furniture, a bookcase, and entertainment center. Travis's team was already at work scouring his laptop. A visitor's badge to the hospital where Raven's mom was being treated was the only other piece of incriminating evidence.

Based on Neal's recommendation, Peter took the admittedly irregular step of allowing Mozzie to conduct a second search the next day. Neal and Peter met him at the apartment. Molina had lived there for three years. When he was arrested, he claimed he was an entrepreneur but provided no employment details. His driver's license and social security number were legitimate, but he'd never filed an income tax return. There was no file for him in the database. He appeared to be in his early thirties and spoke English with a slight British accent, but even his nationality was unknown.

"He's a ghost," Mozzie said. "An invented person. I assume he refuses to talk."

"So far," Peter acknowledged. "What do you think the odds are that he's Pod2?"

Mozzie pursed his lips. "Roughly 93.5%. His IP address is in Manhattan. Of course, you realize that his handle of Pod2 implies a Pod1, Pod3, and probably others. An octopus has eight tentacles while squids have ten." He shrugged. "Sea anemones can have hundreds."

Peter scowled at him. "Why are you so convinced Pod is short for cephalopod?"

"Keen insight and brilliant deductive skills," Mozzie said as if it was obvious to anyone with a brain. "You are free to develop your own theory, of course." He strode over to the bookcase and proceeded to scan the books. "An operation as large as theirs must involve many players under the direction of a leader to whom I've given the sobriquet of Cthulhu."

Neal gave a heartfelt groan. "Couldn't you have picked something other than Lovecraft's sea monster?" Had the octopus in the VR video game been an omen?

"Not in this instance," he insisted.

Was he implying something else? Neal could hear Tricia inside his head, prodding him to pursue the point. "Many of Lovecraft's monsters have tentacles. You were the one who gave Rolf the label of Azathoth. Are you implying that you believe Pod2 is connected to Rolf?"

"It's too soon to give you a definitive answer, but it may interest you to learn that Molina has in his bookcase a book on maps of the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Many of the drawings feature sea monsters."

Peter placed his hands on his hips. "And you call that evidence?"

"Not necessarily but it's illuminating if you consider that Rolf had the same book in the castle library in Hungary." Mozzie turned to Neal. "This reminds me. We should discuss an investment opportunity in marine exploration. This could be a signal."

Neal gave a half-shrug with one shoulder when Peter raised his eyebrows. "Mozzie's my financial advisor now."

"In addition to being your lawyer and advisor in other areas I don't want to know about."

Mozzie nodded complacently. "And master of them all."

Neal wasn't ready to establish a link between Rolf and Pod2—or Cthulhu if Mozzie insisted on the nickname—based on one shared book, but it would be a data point for Tricia. More important was how close Raven had come to having her life destroyed. Ian wasn't pressing charges against her. She had come within a hair's breadth of committing a crime that would have ended her career.

It didn't take long for Travis's team of wizards to find incriminating evidence on Molina's laptop. The file containing personal information about Raven, her mother, and the hospital where the mother was located would be sufficient to guarantee a long sentence. So far Molina wasn't cooperating, but he might change his mind after he came to grips with the severity of the punishment facing him.

Neal hoped Raven would be able to keep her job. She'd been willing to sacrifice everything to keep her mom safe. Her example gave Neal more than a twinge of guilt about not having done more for his mom. He'd written her through the marshals at Christmas time but had never received a reply. He had to assume she'd gotten the letter. But perhaps he was going about it the wrong way. Should he instead focus on the necessity for WITSEC? If he could remove the need for protection, wouldn't that be the best gift he could give her? Once school was out in the summer, there should be time to look into the case. After twenty-three years, perhaps WITSEC wasn't still necessary. Then not only his mom but also Ellen could come out of hiding.

Once the examination of Molina's apartment was concluded, they split in different directions. Mozzie took off for Sal's pool hall to check on his pet rat Percy who lived in an upstairs safe room. Peter was scheduled to make a court appearance. As for Neal, it was time for Tuesday Tails.

He'd called Henry in the morning to suggest they meet. The park Henry used for romps with Splash was a short subway ride away. Sara D. Roosevelt Park was a narrow seven-block stretch of greenery just east of SoHo. Neal caught up with Henry and Splash by the handball court. Chasing Splash's tail wouldn't be difficult. Henry had already given her a workout by the time Neal arrived. He couldn't go into the details of what had been discovered during the case, but explaining the retreat wasn't off-limits.

Henry snorted. "You say you're envious of the pool table in my office, but from my perspective your life doesn't sound that tough. A weekend spent gaming, and you call that work?"

Neal laughed but it sounded hollow to him.

Henry stopped in his tracks. "Did something happen?"

"I tried my hand at a VR game, and that was a mistake." Even though he still felt embarrassed about the incident, he was glad Henry asked. Neal told him about the strong reaction he'd experienced. "I haven't mentioned the incident to Peter. According to Richard, I'm not alone in having a sensitivity to VR gaming."

"Any lingering effects?"

Neal nodded. "The first night I didn't sleep much because we were in surveillance mode, but the past two nights, I dreamed about being underwater. I start in some kids' cartoon and wind up surrounded by sea monsters." He paused on the trail. "You know my history with nightmares. This is probably nothing, right?"

"Probably, but it wouldn't hurt to keep a sleep log. Do you think there could be some other significance?"

Neal shrugged. "It could be the power of suggestion. Mozzie picked Cthulhu as a nickname for the hypothetical partner, and I can't help wishing he'd chosen something else."

"Yeah, me too. That's a tough one to pronounce." Splash tugged at the leash and Henry picked up the pace once more. "You're kicking yourself about overreacting to the game, but there could be something else at play. The scenes you painted for the video game may have evoked memories of the house where Rolf abducted you and Peter. If I remember right, there was underwater imagery there too. Under the circumstances, it's pretty natural that you'd have a few bad dreams."

Neal hadn't thought of the comparison. The way Henry explained it helped to still his unease. "Thanks. I appreciate you're not blowing it out of proportion."

"You're worried Peter would?" 

Neal nodded. "I put him through the wringer last year. I'd like to avoid a repetition."

Henry snapped his fingers. "Were you the one who suggested Peter's stress should be put in overdrive in the latest Arkham Files story?"

"Guilty as charged. I'd talked to Diana about it after the case at the Cloisters last November. At the time I thought Peter was stressing about his Steinar Wolff alias. I didn't realize he was convinced Alex and I were about to elope."

Henry winced. "That was my bad."

"If it hadn't been that, it would have been something else. Diana liked the idea and it's worked out well with your storyline." Arkham Neal was relying on Henry more than ever, and Neal intended to do the same. Peter had suffered enough from the issues Neal had introduced into his life.

Henry smiled. "I'm glad I can discuss her stories with you."

"They're as much Mozzie's now as hers," Neal reminded him.

"Whatever. We make a good team in them, just like in real life. Let's keep that up."

"Agreed. And Tuesday Tails with Splash is much more enjoyable than leading the agents on a chase." Neal stopped in his tracks. "That reminds me, we have an occasion to celebrate. Did you realize 2006 is the Year of the Dog?"

Henry stooped down to scratch behind the puppy's ears. "Hear that, Splash? The Lunar New Year is in your honor!"

"To celebrate, June and Emil are planning a feast on Sunday, January 29. Peter and El are coming with Satchmo. June asked me to let you know. Splash will insist you and Eric join us."

"I'm never one to turn down Emil's food, but I thought you'd be away."

"Sara and I are returning to New York late Sunday afternoon. We'll be back just in time."

"That won't give Aidan many days to film."

"Most of the feature will be CGI. Aidan and Keiko are leaving with Richard and Travis on Wednesday afternoon. Sara and I will drive up on Friday morning."

"Did Mozzie write the script?"

"Not this time. Richard and Travis made a few suggestions. With my luck, that probably means a blend of science fiction and horror. As long as there are no monsters from the Cthulhu Mythos, I won't make waves."

Henry flicked him a glance but didn't comment. He didn't need to. Those nightmares were just a random fluke, but Neal was sticking to chess and billiards from now on. His world was complicated enough without the addition of gaming fantasies.

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! Silent Planet is finished, but Neal's adventures continue. Next week I'll begin posting Glass Angels. The story features Neal and Sara's trip to New Haven for Aidan's film project. Electra has been anticipating this weekend for months. Neal joked that as long as there no monsters from the Cthulhu Mythos in Aidan's film, he'll be content. He may wish to reconsider._

_Is Mozzie right that Pod2 is connected to Rolf's silent partner? Even Peter has learned to rely on his judgment in such matters._

_Penna recently introduced me to two terms—hopepunk and solarpunk. They're also the subject of her blog post this week, "[Novel progress: Solarpunk and Hopepunk](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/04/novel-progress-solarpunk-and-hopepunk.html)." Solarpunk is a science-fiction subgenre and refers to works having a positive ecological vision of the future. Hopepunk in storytelling emphasizes the importance of hope and causes worth fighting for. It's often contrasted with the grimdark subgenre, a bleakly pessimistic vision. Diana believes Arkham Files to be an example of hopepunk as opposed to H.P. Lovecraft's grimdark storytelling. _

_I added an[introduction to Glass Angels](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/04/destination-glass-angels.html) to the blog. Is my Crossed Lines series also hopepunk? Dean and Henry like the sound of that. _

_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Silent Planet board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[pinterest.com/caffreycon](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon)_   
_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_   
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


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